Left Behind
by Ro Aberegg
Summary: My brother died. Alone. And I knew nothing. Felt nothing. Maybe this is what I get for being gone so long... some sick form of punishment. I came home, though. But my brother... my brother isn't ever coming home. Now I know what it feels like to be left behind.
1. Prologue

_For every Final Journey I've ever stood vigil for, and for M, who I miss every day._

* * *

_**Prologue**_

_I search my brother's face for what feels like ages, the silence building around us thick and heavy like smog. His eyes meet mine, then dart away; his lips part-his mouth moves to make words but none come. I tilt my head, squinted eyes as if to say: what? Tell me._

_"It's not true." I seek his gaze out again, but once more he avoids it. Why won't he talk? Why won't he tell me the truth? That this isn't real, that it's a cruel joke, a vengeful jab at me for being gone so long. Damnit, Donatello! Don't you see how childish you're being? "Look, I know I hurt you and I should have been back a long time ago, but that's no reason to lie t-"_

_When he finally does look at me, his eyes are wet and his brow is low. There's something there that I can't fully detect. Maybe anger at me. I can't blame him. "It is true," he confirms, pointedly._

_Suddenly I'm cold, and a little bit tingly. I feel like I've been slugged in the gut, as if all the wind has been knocked from my lungs. The blood drains from my face, maybe straight to my feet and onto the concrete floor for all I know. I feel faint, and I could swear someone was holding my head under water. I reach out for something, anything to steady myself. At some point Donatello is near me, holding my arm._

_"It happened four months ago," he tells me in a hushed tone. "Mikey found him."_

_I swallow thickly, my brain fighting for control of my body. "He was alone?"_

_Donatello looks down and nods gently. "Yeah. He'd been going out for months on his own. I didn't know at first what he was doing, and I don't think Mikey did either. He was just so angry, Leo. I couldn't control him. We all tried, even Master Splinter. But..." he sighs, trailing off._

_My brother died. Alone. And I knew nothing. Felt nothing. A thousand miles away in a muggy jungle sleeping on a straw mat in a tiny village; nothing. No pull at my spirit, a sudden rush of panic, and no overwhelming desire to come home. My family struggled without me because I was ashamed and selfish, my brother died, and I wasn't there for them. I imagined that each of them must have held onto a portion of absolutely agonizing pain, big enough to fit squarely on my shoulders; saved it just for me, labeled and neatly tucked away in a box labeled with my name._

_Realizing all these things hits me hard, like a sword through my heart. But I don't blink. I don't look away._

_"What do you mean, you didn't know what he was doing?" I ask when I finally can._

_"We should have figured it out. I feel like such an idiot," he says angrily._

_I try to get him to focus. "What was it he was doing. Donnie?"_

_"There's something you should see. It's in the garage. I don't even know why we keep it. I guess Mikey doesn't want to get rid of it. I don't know." he pauses and, satisfied that everyone is still sleeping soundly, says, "follow me, but keep it down."_

* * *

_**Someone may notice I had a story like this uploaded several months ago. This is the same story, just a rewrite. I was having trouble, since Leo is not a character I really identify with, but I think first person suits this story better for what I have planned. I apologize for any confusion.**_


	2. Chapter One

There was a time when I was perfectly happy to spend endless hours honing my skills in the dojo, but today was not one of them. Honestly, I would rather be in bed. But what kind of message would that send as a leader? It was hard enough getting Mikey up most of the time. I closed my eyes for an instant, hoping to stave off the burn of a late night spent staring at a glowing computer screen, wondering how Donatello did it. Oh, right. Energy drinks and coffee. I smile softly, my attention now on Master Splinter and Mikey.

"You're doing excellent today, Michelangelo," Splinter says with an approving smile, blocking a series of kicks and punches with ease.

"Yeah, Mikey," Donnie chimes in, crouching a little ways to my left. He taps his bo against the dojo floor, fidgeting. "You haven't been scoleded once today. Nice going."

"The day's still young, Donnie," Mikey exclaims with a grin. The air is warm with persperation. He manages to catch Splinter's cane between his 'chucks and sends it flying across the room, clattering loudly. "Oops. Sorry."

With a shake of his head Splinte abandons the match, a smile hinting at his lips. He crosses the dojo, off to collect his cane. "Hmph."

Mikey tucks his nunchucks into his belt, sheepishly grinning. He chuckles and throws hands out in exasperation. "I said sorry!"

Donnie shakes his head. As Splinter joins us, he tilts his head up at me.

"Ready?" he asks, offering his hand.

"Ready," I answer, grabbing his hand with a loud smack! and pulling him to his feet. We each take our respective sides of the dojo, weapons drawn. Mikey, now seated on the sidelines with Splinter, sits lazily, back against the dojo and his foot spilling out into the arena. There's a puddle of sweat where he was standing earlier. With a grimace I move around it and ready myself.

"Go!" Splinter calls out.

The butt of my sword feels heavy in my hand. I spin the blade once, just for show. I want Donatello to attack me. He must be reading my mind because I don't have to wait too long. He leaps toward me, staff sweeping at my ankles. This I quickly dodge by flipping over him. He's ready for me when I land, though, and charges me again. Lean to the left, lean to the right, learn to the-wait, he tricked me! In my grogginess, I don't catch it in time and take a staff to the gut. Unluckily for him, I am now fully awake. The spar continues for about seven minutes in total before I end things, sending Donatello sailing through the air. His back strikes the wall, hard.

Breathing hard, I sheath my sword and squint through the sweat collecting on my brow.

Donatello holds the back of his head, hissing through his teeth. "Ow."

"You okay?" Mikey asks. He jogs over and helps Donnie up before I can get to him.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Don bends to pick up his bo. He congratulates me on winning. Splinter then announces that we're done for the day, but that he wants Mikey back in the evening, after dinner. With all this extra energy Mikey's had lately, Splinter and him sometimes do a little one-on-one. I'm glad Mikey seems to be taking his training seriously, but do feel guilty that Splinter is there with him. I feel like that's something I should be doing. Intergrating back into things is...still a little weird. I guess they got along without me for so long, they sometimes forget that I'm here.

"You got it!" Mikey exclaims. Then he grabs Donatello by the shoulders and steers him from the dojo, talking incessantly about something I can't make out.

"Sorry," I mumble to Donatello's retreating form. I kind of feel bad, even though I did exactly what I was supposed to do. A sigh escapes me.

"You seem distracted." Splinter's voice comes from behind me. He can always tell when something is bothering us, so I'm not surprised by his concern. "Something you wish to talk about?"

I am however a little annoyed. "It's nothing, Sensei," I lie. "Just didn't sleep well last night."

He doesn't believe me, and he's not wrong, but I stick with my lie. I didn't sleep well, but that isn't the whole truth behind my awkwardness. I know that at some point he expects me to tell him about my trip, and at some point, I will. There's this feeling inside me I can't put a name to, but it makes me feel guarded even now, like I'm a scared wounded animal. A part of me tells myself I have no right to feel this way-I'm the one that left them. I can't shake the feeling, but I can do my best to bury it until it soffocates.

"Please," I murmur, my eyes still trained on the spot on the wall where Donatello hit.

"Okay," is all he says. He gives my arm a squeeze and then he's gone.

Again I shut my eyes. I draw in a deep breath and let it out with a soft noise of frustration.

I need air.

* * *

There's a spot under New York City where my brother is buried. He lived here, grew here, died here, and now his body will return to the Earth here. It's a shame he couldn't be buried topside, but the risk is simply too great. Maybe someday, when we're all gone, someone will find my brother's bones. Mine too, maybe. I wonder if we'll end up in a museum somewhere. They'll piece our bones together and maybe a gifted artist will smooth clay over our skulls and sculpt our featues from beyond the grave. I wonder if that ever happened if they'd ever truly capture what made us unique- Mikey's smile, Raph's hard brow and piercing gaze, for example. I guess it's sort of a morbid thing to think about, but it doesn't really bother me. I think it's extremely interesting. Don might agree with me, if this were something normal people talked about.

But it's not. I try not to let these thoughts consume me, try to push them into the back of my mind. Sometimes they manage to make it to the surface.

I gaze down into the busy streets, listening to cars honk in the distance. Beams of lights fill the streets and building fronts and then fade away. People walk two and fro, some alone, heads craned down to the glow of a cellphone, others in masses that talk and laugh loudly, the smell of alcohol catching the breeze and wafting to me. I think for a moment of the village I spent the last few months of my time in, the music and dancing and the alcohol. Stronger than anything here, I'm sure; everything is made from scratch there, and everyone helps. The tobacco is excellent, too. I miss it.

I take a drag from the cigarette, the smoke burning in my chest. It's weak compared to what I know, but the it's enough to quell the need.

I wonder if Raphael was a smoker. I could see it. I'm sure he did a lot of things I never knew about.

I exhale, disgusted with myself, and snub the cigarette out against the side of the building. I consider flicking it over the edge and onto the sidewalk, but don't. I curse myself and tuck it back away, frowning. My phone begins vibrating. It's Donatello, asking where I am and how late I plan on staying out.

"Not too much longer," I tell him. "It's a nice night out. You should have come."

"Maybe next time. I'm upgrading the security system. You should get an alert any minute now." My phone buzzes a second time. "Did you get it?"

I pull the phone away from my face and squint at the screen. "Says I have a text."

"Yeah, so with this new upgrade, we'll all get alerts to our phones from now on when the system is armed or disarmed."

I groan in protest. "That's going to get annoying fast."

"Yeah, well," I can practically hear him shrug through the phone. "It's safer this way. We had a group of meth-heads almost stumble into the lair while you were gone."

I say nothing.

"Okay, well...see you when you get home."

"Wait! How am I supposed to get home if I don't know how to disarm this?"

"I'll leave it unarmed for now and show you when you get here. It's easy. Even if you lose your phone or it's destroyed, everyone will have their own code, so no one but family can get in or out."

After the call ends, I start to tuck the phone into my belt but pause. Instead, I pull up my text messages. **"LAIR UNARMED"** is the first one, a timestamp following it. The next one is Don. I keep scrolling. Mikey, Don again-Raph's name pops up and I stop in my tracks. I select his name with my thumb and read through our last conversation, timestamped over a year ago.

**L: supposed to be home 4 hrs ago**

**L: where R U?**

**R: nyc**

Before I realize I'm even doing it, I roll my eyes.

**L: Im serious, get home NOW**

**R: or**

**L: or what**

**L: ?**

**R: lol exactly. what u gonna do **

I continue to go further back. There wasn't much more, just a couple other friendly jabs, one message that simply said "dick hed," (no context, wonder what I did to piss him off?) and the last text I ever received from him.

**R: k**

It infuriated me when I got it, but now it just made me feel hollow.

Two women below walk by, heels click-clacking on the pavement. Their giggles fade away down the corner.

I bite tongue staring at that stupid "k" and type back:

**I miss you**


	3. Chapter Two

Mikey's head does a slow, halting nod, but then stops. "Yeah, I'm not going to pretend here, Donnie. I don't get it."

"There's not much else to get, Mikey." Don produces his own personal phone to demonstrate."You simply type your 5 digit code and press the pound key. The lair will arm and disarm." A robotic voice above us announces: ARMED. He watches our expressions, eyes bright with excitement. He punches 5 more numbers in with is thumb and strikes the pound key. The voice booms: DISARMED. "Easy. I mean, yeah, there's a lot that goes into it behind the scenes but this is the most watered down version I can give you guys."

"Wow, thanks," I say, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice. "Not insulting at all."

"Not a problem, bro." Donnie shoots me a toothy grin. "Any questions? Master Splinter?"

Splinter shakes his head. "No, none. I believe I understand everything."

"Hmph," Mikey grunts.

Donnie ignoring Mikey's grumbling, extends his open palm. "What do you want your pass code to be?"

"I'unno," Mikey shrugs, passing his phone over. "12345?"

"Try again, smart guy. Something you'll remember."

Mikey rattles off a number Don finally accepts, then it's Splinter's turn. Seconds later, it's mine. "Now, you can also arm or disarm through my main computer here," he nods to the keyboard on the desk behind him. "Manually. But obviously that's only from the inside. This also records all the logs, so I can see who activated or deactivated it, and what time. I'll show you guys how to use that later. I'm still working on a keypad with a delayed reaction for the main entrance, in case anyone's phone is destroyed or lost. Right now, let's focus on the task at hand."

As he's wrapping up the explanation, I see it start to happen. He returns my phone and reflexively reaches out again, anticipating a fourth phone that doesn't come. His lips automatically part, his tongue curled and lifted behind his front teeth.

_Oh, Donnie. There was no intruder, was there?_

Don averts his eyes from us and clears his throat, glossing over his mistake. If anyone else noticed, they don't give any indication. "-Okay, everyone's good to go now. Now, I want you all to activate and deactivate the system. Leo, you go first."

_ARMED. DISARMED._

"Success," I announce, searching for the source of the disembodied voice. It's kind of creepy, honestly. There's got to be speakers, somewhere. I make a mental note to ask Don about it later. "Mikey? your turn."

_ARMED. DISARMED._

"Master Splinter?"

Everyone's phone buzzes and rattles; a text message for every demonstration.

_ARMED. DISARMED._

"That's gonna get annoying," Mikey comments. I raise my eyebrows and glance at Don, as if to say, _see? Told you._

"Wait until you hear the intruder alarm," Don says. "It'll knock your socks off."

"Oh, intruder alarm, great. Can't wait."

"After a while, you'll hardly notice it," Don promises. "Besides, I'll sleep better."

"In that case, it's well worth it." Splinter touches Mikey's shoulder. "I think we would all sleep better."

"All right, you're free to go," Donatello dismisses, shooing us away.

I stay behind after Don's presentation, watching him return to the virtual world. The screen flashes in brilliant colors as codes and numbers fill it. How did he ever become so intelligent? I wonder. We barely had anything when we were young, certainly nothing to satisfy his craving for knowledge. That's the difference between my brother and some of the top scientists in the world, though. He didn't have schooling. If something didn't come naturally to him, he figured it out on his own. It's incredibly admirable.

"Hey Don? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What's up?" eventually, he pries his eyes away from the screen.

"It's about... all this," I gesture around the lair. "Is this-" I quickly glance around, "-Is this about what happened to Raph?"

Don swallows thickly, sighs, and drops his eyes to the right of me. "Truthfully? Yes. We did need an upgrade, though. I just...didn't get around to it in time."

I nod gently. I understand completely. "You did everything you could."

"No, I didn't," he answers. "That's the problem."

"That's just grief speaking."

He shakes his head and meets my gaze, his features locked in a grim expression. "It's really not, Leo. Towards the end, I was so tired of fighting with him, I just... I let him do whatever he wanted. It was easier that way. Things were falling apart, and I just, I caved. And now Raphael is dead, and it's my fault."

My heart genuinely hurts for my brother. It's as though I've absorbed the weight of his guilt, now, too, on top of my own. "No, Donnie, it's mine."

"_I_ was acting leader," he says icily. His words strike me like a spear in the chest. "_I_ was in charge._ I_ did this. And this," he gestures to the computer, "this is my lame attempt at making sure it doesn't happen again." He produces a weak chuckle and shakes his head.

I want to grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him, but I feel drained of any energy I had. I can see the exhaustion in him, too. The way his shoulders slouch, the way he struggles to blink away the pull of pure exhaustion. I never wanted this to happen. I always wanted to protect my family, and in leaving to better my training, I wound up hurting them instead. My stomach flips violently as I try and stuff my feelings back down.

Donatello is a lot like me, and I know there's no use arguing here. I can only hope that that big brain of his will realize one day that it wasn't his fault, not really.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "It should have been me."

"Well, it wasn't," Don replies curtly, and turns back to the computer screen.

I get the feeling that this is his way of telling me to fuck off, and decide to drop it and walk away.

* * *

Two nights later, after making absolutely sure everyone is asleep, I find myself at that very same computer. Several times a month I do this. If anyone were to find out, I don't know what I'd do. I can't explain this urge I have. Maybe I'm trying to numb myself? I can't say. I know it's wrong, but I can't stop. I continue to scroll, pausing at each photo, each more disturbing than the last. At least they should be, I tell myself, as I gaze upon the resumed human remains, their eyes rotted away and mouths screwed up in horrifying, silent screams. My pulse quickens with each photo I view. Some bones are bleached white. Others don't even look like bones anymore, more like piles of wet leaves. Others look almost perfectly preserved, as though just sleeping. Hands crossed, hands at their sides, some holding rosaries, some holding the remnants of decayed photos or stuffed animals. The morbid curiosity in me grows, bringing a sudden, unbidden lump to my throat, and I hate it. Eventually shame and disgust overwhelms me and I close down the web-page, after deleting the history, and sit in the glow of the screen.

I think of my brother.


	4. Valentina

_"Venga, sal,..."_

_The voice called out in a sing-song. There was nothing friendly about who the voice belonged to though, Leo knew. _

_The man, roughly in his mid fifties, with a long greasy mane of black hair peppered with gray, canvased the area. Machete in one hand, gun in the other, he pushed heavy brush out of the way to aid his search. He moved skillfully, seeming to know just where to step to avoid the snap of twigs. His expert eyes swept the jungle floor once more, and then curiously began to climb upward._

_High above the jungle floor, Leonardo squeezed his eyes closed, his pulse throbbing at his temples. He didn't dare move. A single twitch could seal his fate._

_"Fro-ggy...¿Dónde están? Monstruo bastardo..."_

_In the distance, Leo heard other voices call out. He clung to consciousness, aware of a coldness filling his limbs. He prayed to not be spotted, to blend in; tried to will the tree to open up and swallow him whole._

_A second more the man regarded the tree tops with a scrutinizing eye, before turning toward the voices of his comrades._

_Leo held tight to the bark, pulling in staggering breathes and trying earnestly to push them back out as calm. His breathing couldn't have been as loud as he thought, he reasoned, but the fear still lingered. He waited before clumsily dropping into the thickness of brush. He had such little strength left, grace was completely out of the question._

_A groan clawed its way up his throat where it died, for fear of attracting anyone or anything else. He tried to sit up and bit his tongue, nearly blacking out completely. It took several tries for him to stagger to his feet with the use of his good arm, and several more seconds before he could trust that his own feet to support him. _

_Warm blood trickled down his arm, tickling his elbow, and he studied the makeshift tourniquet made from his mask. It would have to do until he got to safety-where ever that was._

_It could have been hours he trekked, or mere minutes, he didn't know. He drifted in and out just enough to keep his feet moving and to continue breathing, everything else was put on hold. When he could walk no more, he fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, his head dropping like a bowling ball. When had the pounding in his head stopped? He couldn't remember. Glazed eyes stared blankly at the canopy of emerging stars as Leonardo made peace with his impending death._

* * *

_Light filled his face, bright and orange and hot. Birds twittered overhead. _

_Leo exhaled sharply, lungs burning with desire as he took in deep gulps of air, coughing and choking. He struggled to sit up, yelping in pain. He grasped at his arm desperately. The urge to vomit was immense, but instantly forgotten as he felt the chill of a gun barrel pressed against his temple._

_"¿qué eres tú? Un demonio?__" a voice demanded. Female, he noted. There had been only men chasing him before. That didn't mean a thing, though, he realized. _

_Careful to remain perfectly still, Leo moved only his eyes. "Don't," he pleaded. "Please. I mean you no harm, I swear."_

_"¿Puedes hablar?" the girl replied, baffled. Her eyes went wide. "¿Hablas __**Inglés?**__"_

_"Yes!" Leo cried. "Si, English. ¿habla Inglés?"_

_"No English." Leo felt his spirits fall._

_"Wait, please..."_

_Minutes passed in tense silence. Though she eventually lowered the gun, her gaze remained harsh and untrusting._

_"Thank you," he said softly. "Gracias."_

_"Hm," the girl sniffed in response. Although the gun was no longer pressed against his skull, she kept it ready, willing to put him down without a moment of hesitation if he attempted to lunge at her or attack her._

_Leo guessed she was young, probably fourteen or fifteen, judging by her height. She was barefoot, wearing a blue spaghetti strap tank top and a long, colorful skirt. She had dark shoulder length hair, pulled back in a braid. For how young she appeared, she definitely knew how to handle a firearm._

_"Mi nombre es Leonardo," he explained weakly. Despite however long he was unconscious, he could feel himself weakening by the minute. He nodded to his arm, which the girl hadn't seemed to notice yet. "I'm injured. Herir. I need help."_

_Dark eyes zeroed in on his wound, crusted over with dried blood, and he saw her expression soften. The gun, she tucked into the waistband of her skirt, crouching to eye level. "Leonardo," she repeated. She offered her hand. _

_Leo gently took her hand, and then, puzzled, glanced down. In his palm were several small green leafs. _

_"Masticar," she urged, bringing her fingers to her thin lips. "Chew."_

_He didn't know why, but he haltingly followed her instructions, placing the leaf into his mouth, his eyes on hers._

_"Coca." She flashed a knowing smile. "Leonardo?" her head cocked slightly. "I am Valentina."_


	5. Chapter Three

My heart pounds in my chest like a jackhammer, my face wet with tears. I jolt awake so suddenly I hear the sound of fabric tearing. Breaths come at last, accented by hiccups and sobs I try desperately to shove back down my esophagus. I see nothing, and for an instant I fear that I am dead. Out of the corner of my eye I spy a retreating shadow, catch the pink tip of a tail flick, and I realize -hands white-knuckled, gripping fistfuls of sheet so tightly I hear the fabric struggle to stay one- I'm home. I'm in New York, in my home, in my bed. I'm not a rotting corpse staring unseeingly at mounds of dirt piled over my face. To make sure, though, I grab my shoulder and grip it, hard, digging my thumb into that spot where bullet tore through my flesh. A sharp pain rips through me and I grit my teeth, grunting. I'm alive, definitely, and awake.

My pulse begins to return to normal as I loosen my grip on the bed sheets. Despite the pitch blackness, I close my eyes. Deep shame replaces the fear in my mind as I realize that, my family has shared in my weakness. I don't actually know what I do while asleep, whether I shout or cry out, but I must do something bad enough to warrant them checking up on me.

In the beginning, someone would always come for me. Then one evening I strangled Donatello. I had him in a headlock before I fully came to. Master Splinter actually had to step in and separate us. I just wouldn't let go. Now when the nightmares come, either no one comes, or they observe from afar, like Master Splinter was doing just moments ago. Eventually i come out of it, half of the time with no idea where I am. I'm thankful that I rarely remember the dreams.

Sighing, I reach over and flip on my desk light. I flinch at the explosion of light and frown at the torn sheets huddled around my lap now. "Great," I murmur. "These are ruined."

I check the time: 4:02AM. There's no way I can go back to sleep, I tell myself, and leave the warmth of my bed. I roll my shoulders and stretch out my neck muscles, then reach for my mask.

On my way down, no one is waiting for me. I'm extremely glad for that. I check my satchel, retrieve my phone, and deactivate the system. We were able to talk Donnie into muting the system. I do hear two phones charm in the distance-a bright flash of light comes from Don's room. Feeling my stomach do flip flops, I exit the lair, re-arm, and head into the sewer.

* * *

I run for as long as my legs will allow, focusing on the burning in my thighs and calves. I can't remember exactly which way I'm meant to go, but it doesn't matter as much as just getting out does. I find that being cooped up in the lair is like torture now. I crave being outdoors, but this concrete jungle doesn't seemn to quench my thirst. It's better than nothing though.

I round the twists and turns, grab overhead pipes and catapult over heaps of rubble, shopping carts, and other refuse. I run until I can't run any longer, and when I can't run any longer, I walk. Finally when my limbs feels as though they're buzzing, and heat pin-pricks at my face and sweat drips from my brow, I stop. My satchel carries the zippo lighter, along with my stubbed out butts, and I straighten one out with my thick, stubby fingers. It takes two tries to light it and I lean my shell against a concrete wall, sucking in deeply all that delicious nicotine. As I exhale, I push away from the wall and continue walking.

"Guess I didn't need Mikey, after all," I say aloud, approaching Raphael's grave.

You wouldn't know it just by looking. The further you get into these passages, the less developed they are. There's no concrete here, just dirt. Dirt and rock and my brother.

I exhale, staring. The only way I know this is it is the red pebble. Mikey's idea. Smart, honestly.

"What were you doing, Raph?" I ask quietly, my brow knit in frustration. My eyes waver slightly.

Silence.

I expect this huge release of emotion and yet I feel anger, more than anything. Anger at believing this was some magical place where I could feel Raphael, be convinced he was still here in some way shape or form. I desperately want to feel him, but there's nothing. Suddenly I'm hit with an overwhelming urge to know-to dig into the Earth and remove layer after layer and gaze into his empty sockets. I need to know. I need to know this is real. I need to see what everyone else saw. Maybe then it'll be real for me.

I shake my head in disgust, smoke curling around my head.

"What the hell is your problem?" I mutter to myself. "Why are you even here? You know he isn't. Just go home, idiot."

So I do. I go home, and when I walk into the lair I pretend I don't see my father's worried eyes tracking me straight to the dojo. It's almost time for practice, but no one follows me inside. There's a tenseness in the lair and I know I'm causing it, but I can't force myself to stop, don't want to. I stomp into the dojo, straight up to Raph's punching bag, and let loose. My blows are awkward and amatuerish but this isn't about being perfect. Harder and harder, almost, almost... My hands are a bloody mess by the time Mikey and Don pull me away.

"I'm fine," I keep repeating. Why won't they believe I'm fine? "Let's just get on with it. Come on._ Come on!_"

Splinter eyes me with an expression I can't read. Annoyance? Disappointment? Probably. I meet his gaze and just...stare. What am I doing? I ask myself. This isn't me.

I'm "excused" from practice for the day. Later, Splinter says quietly, he and I should talk.

It's 6:00AM.

I find myself in my room after Don wraps my knuckles. I pace like a caged animal, mind going a thousand miles a minute. I don't intend to, but somehow I end up back in bed.

I manage to sleep for thirteen hours.

No one comes for me.


	6. Chapter Four

Another thing that's changed while I was away is a surge in crime activity. It's to be expected here in New York, but I guess things got really crazy after a while. Some mornings I overhear the news while Splinter tries to catch up: 1 killed, 2 injured in drive by shooting, woman raped and mugged, young adult struck by drunk driver. Four months ago, someone actually was set on fire in what police believe is a hate-crime. The man died. I think he was around our age. It honestly blows my mind that people can do these types of things to one another, and the kicker? It's not just happening here: it happens all over the world. What's even more insane is the fact that this is just something that happens now, like missing your bus or oversleeping or overcast skies. Seems like it takes something truly sick to really capture the public's attention these days.

Tonight has been a good night. Slow, uneventful, aside from a band of bikers zipping through the streets like a herd of buffalo.

Donatello's shadow flies over me, followed by Michelangelo's. I hop out of my own head and heave myself from one building ledge to the next, picking up speed but still hanging behind. We've been out about two hours now, canvassing, stretching our legs, and just letting loose. I gotta say, it's nice, despite how drop-dead tired I am. There's no official game going, but Don and Mikey are fighting for first place, and it seems like Don's winning. The race dies out just as I catch up, at the top of a four floor apartment building for seniors. It's been one of Mikey's favorite spots for the last few years, mostly due to the 76 year old woman we call Ms. Hattie. Ms. Hattie collects cats. Lots and lots of cats.

"Hi Noodles! Hi Buttons! Hi Captain Marsh-mellow!" Mikey greets them in this intolerably cute baby voice, crouched next to the apartment window on the fire escape. Three cats sashay back and forth, fighting for the spotlight. A fourth one pushes past the others and paws the glass repeatedly. "Ohh, hi Senor Flapjack!"

I cock an eyebrow and glance at Don. Ordinarily I would be uneasy of any one of us being so out in the open, but we're all pretty sure Ms. Hattie is legally blind. One time she snored herself awake from a nap and looked right at Mikey and didn't even so much as flinch. Maybe she's afraid she's starting to lose her marbles and just thinks she's seeing things. "Senor Flapjack? That's a new one."

Don shrugs, squinting at the building next to us. He's trying to see into someone's window. How very un-Don-like. I lift my chin and try to peer over his shoulder-oh, a computer screen. Figures. Inside a man in his 40s hunches over the screen, yelling into his headphone mic. "Yeah, Senor Flapjack is new. I think that makes 8 now."

"I wish we could have a cat," Mikey laments sadly, hand pressed against the glass. "Or a dog. Or any pet, really."

"We could order you a Tomogachi, remember those?" Don chimes in absently, producing a pair of binoculars. "Ooh."

I smirk at him. "You sound like a pervert."

"Not a pervert," he replies, holding an explanatory finger in the air. "Just a little envious of his set up. This stuff just hit the market. This guy must be loaded. Wonder why he lives here?"

"Probably because he's blowing all his money on a video game set up," I suggest.

"Well, regardless: if he didn't want people looking in, he'd close his blinds."

Valid point...I guess.

"Later, cattos." Mikey says to the feline entourage. He swings himself up the fire escape to the top level, joining us.

"Do you think Master Splinter would let me get a guinea pig or a hamster? Something small?"

"Doubtful," I say.

"Why not? Raph had Spike, and he wasn't any trouble at all."

Don visibly tenses, but continues to stare out the binoculars, his mouth a thin line.

"I really miss Raph," Mikey murmurs.

I wait a beat, watching Mikey pick at his wristband, obviously aware of the mood shift. An awkward amount of time passes before I say, "yeah me too."

Don lowers the binoculars and sighs. "Can we please not talk about this right now?" he pleads.

A deep scowl spreads across Mikey's face. He keeps his eyes low, asks, "why don't you ever want to talk about him, Donnie?"

"I just don't!" he snaps. From the quiver in his voice, I expect to see tears in his eyes, but I don't. I study his face, but as far as he's concerned he and Mikey are the only ones here, and he looks right through me. "Why do you?" he challenges bitterly.

Donatello doesn't give Mikey a chance to respond. He hides the binoculars away, shaking his head in frustration. As he moves past me, I reach for his arm.

"Don't touch me, Leo," he orders, shoving past me. "I'll be at home."

Mikey and I watch as he disappears into the night.

* * *

"So that's it? I'm just never supposed to talk about him again?" Mikey angrily cries. He sits, beating his fists against his legs in frustration. "Sometimes I just want to punch Don in the face, you know? Ever since Raph died, he's been so...I can't even find a word for it!"

"He's not being like this on purpose. He's grieving."

Mikey expels a harsh laugh. "Yeah, well, he's not the only one grieving. I'm tired of pretending Raph never existed."

Mikey makes a fist and releases it, looks up at me, and for the first time I see the immense and unfathomable pain behind his eyes. Don's voice plays in my head, reminding me _'Mikey found him.'_

"Do you hate me?" I blurt out of nowhere.

Mikey blinks in surprise. "What? No! ...I mean, I was really angry for a while, but I got over it. I knew you'd be back when you were ready."

I smile warmly, feeling a weight removed from my shoulders.

"How did you know I would come back?" I ask.

Mikey looks at me as though I've grown two heads. "Because I know you, Leo," he says simply. "And you'd never abandon us."

I swallow thickly. "But..."

Mikey climbs to his feet and waves his hand dismissively. "You _did_ come back, though. And I forgave you ages ago." he flashes me a gentle smile. "I didn't want to be angry anymore. It's so exhausting."

It really _is_ exhausting.

My brother has always been a kind soul. He's the kind of guy who feels bad when someone kills a bug, and wants to rescue every stray dog or cat he sees. He's also kind of known for being a goof, so I can pretty much count on one hand the amount of times he's been angry, or serious. This side of him is kind of a shock. Honestly, I'm proud of the person he's become.

"Do you think Raph...?"

It wasn't a question I'd ever actually asked myself before. Sure, Raph always wanted to do his own thing, to be in charge, and I know it really rubbed him the wrong way, me being the leader, but when we weren't butting heads in the dojo or in the field, we were actually pretty close. Did he die thinking I'd never come home again? That I'd abandoned them? Did he die hating me?

"I don't know," Mikey answers gradually. I can see it in his face: he doesn't want to lie to me, but he doesn't want to hurt me, either. "He might've thought he did, but I don't think so, not really. You know Raph...stupid simple to read sometimes, crazy complex others."

I nod solemnly. "So what actually happened? With the, the Night-" I grasp for words.

"The Nightwatcher," Mikey supplies. "I knew way before Donnie did. Raph made me promise to keep my mouth shut. Actually, he threatened me, but you know." He smiles a little and shrugs. "He'd be out nearly the entire night and when he'd come home he'd be black and blue and there'd be blood on his hands. I'd ask, what the heck are you doing, man? And he'd tell me to mind my own business, so I started to follow him."

"Why am I not surprised?" I remark.

"At first it was legit, you know? Actually helping people who were being mugged or whatever, so I backed off. This was before the Nightwatcher officially existed. Don was working, I was working. Raph was too, I guess, in his own way, in the background."

"So what happened next?"

He pauses, choosing his words thoughtfully. "In the end, I think he wanted to fight ...just to fight. I think he was running."

I manage a sneer and shake my head. The Old Me wouldn't have been able to understand it, but The New Me completely gets it. I feel this rush of white-hot anger sometimes and I wonder, is it the same anger that often consumed my deceased brother? Was this what he battled every day? And did me leaving affect him so badly that he sought release up here, in violence? "I wonder if he was trying to numb himself, or trying to feel something?"

"I have no idea. He was pretty much a loose canon by the time he donned the suit. I tried to tell Donnie, but..." he trails off. "Even Master Splinter confronted him eventually."

I grimace slightly, trying to envision how that went down. Not well, I imagine. "He did? What did Raph say?"

"He said he'd stop."

"Just like that?" I blink. "Did he?"

"Yeah... I really thought things were getting back to normal, too. He stopped. He started coming to practice again, stopped leaving the lair all the time. He would even meditate with Master Splinter. It was weird. It was the first time in a long time Master Splinter actually looked relaxed. Donnie, too." Mikey smiles and starts picking at his wristband again. He looks away, rolls a shoulder like it's bothering him. "Then when your return date came and went, things got really bad. Wasn't long after that before I... before I found him. Maybe a month."

Pulse quickening, I wait hungrily for more, but Mikey's story seems to end there. I want to grab him and shake the rest out of him, but I force myself to bite my tongue. I take in the glazed expression on my brother, see the rings under his eyes. I can practically see him start shutting down.

Neither of us speaks for a while. A light flicks on in the building across the street from us, then a moment later cuts out. A car alarm whines in the distance. I follow Mikey's gaze over the edge, down into the street, where three teenagers walk by, talking excitedly. They look about 16 or 17. "Shut the fuck up," one demands, shoving another. Two of them explode in a fit of laughter. Mikey and I watch until they enter an apartment complex a little further down the street. A cat meows.

Mikey looks at me again, head tilted. He seems to be coming out of his zombie-like trance. "Hey Leo? Some pretty bad stuff happened to you in Central America, didn't it?"

Now what I wasn't expecting. I'm suddenly extremely self conscious of the ugly scar on my shoulder. "Yeah," I answer slowly, not sure how much I want to reveal. I think this conversation has enough weight already, and decide to keep my answer vague. "Some pretty bad stuff happened. Why?"

"You seem different than before. Different, but in a familiar way." He frowns, not looking pleased with his explanation. "Anyway, thanks for letting me vent, and talk about Raph. Should...we head back now?"

What I really want is a cigarette, I think, fighting the urge to light one up. Instead, I glance at my phone and note the time. "Yeah. Let's head back. I'm sure Don's cooled off by now. And Mikey? You can talk to me about Raph any time."


End file.
